Goodnight, Travel Well
by Lila2
Summary: Being a martyr doesn’t come easy to Juliet


**Title:** "Goodnight, Travel Well"

**Author:** Lila

**Rating: **PG-13

**Character/Pairing: **Juliet

**Spoiler: **"The Incident"

**Length: **one-shot

**Summary: **Being a martyr doesn't come easy to Juliet

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs

**Author's Note: **I haven't written "Lost" fic in five years, since mid-season one, so it was a huge surprise for me when the season five finale evoked plot bunnies that have been dormant for so long. I'm super rusty when it comes to this fandom so please be gentle; I'm still rediscovering my footing here. Title and cut courtesy of The Killers. Enjoy.

* * *

You close your eyes and the world fades to white.

Your people (your _adopted_ people) wore white to bury their dead. You remember Colleen's funeral, the white dress and the white flowers in her hair and the white sand curling between your toes.

Ben told you, once, before Goodwin and before Jack (long before James), that white symbolized death in Asian cultures. You'd buried the confusion behind the serene expression you'd brought with you from your old life. Everyone you'd met was American born and American raised, a collection of white bread foreigners trapped in the South Pacific. You didn't know Dharma then; you didn't understand.

You'd learned later, when you'd watched your first sun fall from a sky framed by a shimmering expanse of dark blue, and you'd still tasted mojitos on your tongue and heard the rumba beating in your ears and smelled empanadas in the air.

When you'd watched Colleen float to her watery grave, the candles lighting the waxy smoothness of her white skin and bringing out the gold in her hair, you'd watched Ben's lips move in a silent prayer but you'd sworn you're heard _Namaste_ catch in the breeze.

You'd caught his eye, over the white shrouds and the white, hot grief keening from between Danny's lips, and shared understanding with the smile you were supposed to abandon in Miami.

Some things are impossible to leave behind.

---

You don't know who will be waiting for you on the other side.

You burned your bridges with your people (the ones you willingly abandoned) and you don't think Colleen or Danny or Tom or the ones before them and the ones after are sitting around limbo waiting for the bitch who sold them out.

Even if they are there, ties that bind and all, you'd rather an endless sentence in hell than a chance at heaven with any of them. Three years you spoke their language and cared for their women and it never fit anymore than the scraps of Edmund's attention kept you warm in Miami. You can already see the betrayal in their eyes, the bright, burning anger and wide shock of surprise, and you don't know what scares you more, eternity alone or eternity with them.

In your first life (the life you were born into but never felt quite right), you always thought Rachel would lead you to the right path.

Rachel was the sick one, the sad one, the doomed one, and you'd always assumed she'd go first. You always thought she'd be there, seasoned and prepared, a cascade of dark hair falling down her back (not a wig for once) and bright eyes (from joy rather than a fever) and a smile that reached her eyes without a stitch of pain.

The irony? Coincidence? Joke of it all?

Rachel had the death sentence and you're the one who'll be waiting for her.

---

You open your eyes and the world is a fog.

It brings you back to the beach, your first and your last, those precious moments when the sun was just peeking over the horizon and the stars were slipping into slumber across the infinite stretch of sky.

There's no sand here, no sun, but you can here the dull thud of water rushing over rock, so different than the warm gurgle of waves lapping against the shore.

There's dirt on your skin and caking in your hair; when you brush it back from your face, there's a long line of black blood trailing down your hand. An image flashes before your eyes, your sister smiling through cracked, bleeding lips as the needle probed deep; another dead girl and another life unable to be born, smears of their blood staining your hands. Ben saved your sister but you never had the opportunity to save those girls. All those years of work and nothing to show for it.

You want to cry, or maybe scream, but you already know human emotions will do less for you in death than they did in life. What's done is done; you can't change the life you left behind.

Your body is busted, broken and bloody, but you can still put one foot in front of the other and you slowly rise to your feet. You're dead and your life is over but you're still here, you're still Juliet.

You follow the water as you always have.

---

There's a girl waiting for you at the crossing, all golden hair and sun-gilded skin and impossibly long limbs.

You can't help but smile. You spent your entire adult life amongst models; it's a bit like coming home.

There's compassion on the girl's face and warmth in her eyes. "I've been waiting for you," she says and rises to her feet.

You're standing at a river but you know the name isn't Styx. "Where are we?" you ask and half expect her to reply with, "it's _when_ are we," before you remember that life is no longer yours. Tears spring to your eyes and streak down your cheeks before you can stop them. This wasn't how it was supposed to end.

She doesn't smile but she does take your hand in hers and squeeze. "I'll take you across. It's better there," she promises. "I won't ask for much in return."

"I don't have any money," you sniffle and you're thankful. Any metal in your pockets and you might have started your descent into this place even earlier. You might not have been able to say goodbye.

She takes your other hand in hers and looks into your eyes. They're bright and blue, not like the sea and not like the river, but comforting all the same. "I want you to tell me a story," she says. "One story and I'll take you across." You stare at her through the blur of tears because a story? Now? Her fingers tighten around yours. "Please."

You have a feeling begging doesn't come easy to her. Losing control doesn't come easy to you. You take a deep breath, blink away the tears, restore the normalcy you both crave. "What do you want to know?"

"Are they happy?" she asks and her tone is even but her eyes plead.

"Who?"

"You know who," she says and for the first time a smile ghosts across her lips.

The explosion rings through your ears, the universe realigning while the world crumbled around you. A new beginning for everyone but you. "They get to start over," you say. "They'll live their lives like none of this happened." You take another breath before the tears start anew. Crying won't make it any less fair.

She nods and drops your hands, sucks in a shaky breath of her own. "Thank you," she whispers and closes her eyes for a moment. She's learned the tricks of this trade, had time to practice and perfect, and her eyes are closed only an instant before they're calm, clear pools of blue again. "If you'll come this way, the boat is ready."

You watch the tall, proud set of her shoulders as she descends towards the shore.

"He found her," you say as you help her unwind the lines. "In this life, he'll find her again."

It's her turn to blink back tears and her fingers shake a bit on the sheet. "It's all I ever wanted," she whispers. "I wanted him to be happy, even if it couldn't be with me."

James swims before your eyes, a slow, steady smile spreading across his face as he kissed you goodbye one random fall morning. You can still hear his screams but you can hear Kate's cries too. You hope this time he gets the girl. You want him to live his life even if it's not with you.

"Are you ready?" she breaks into your thoughts and you stand at the boat's edge, river water lapping against your booted feet.

You feel a bit like Miami again, the island too, still in the game but with another player holding your cards. "I'm not," you whisper and hold tight to the lines, plant your feet firmly in the muddy bank.

"We can wait but it doesn't get any easier."

That feeling creeps into your chest again, dread and fear because another person is dictating your fate. "I'm tired of everyone telling me what to do," you say. "Can't I just be left alone?"

You could stay here, in this place, with this girl and her sad eyes and a river that feels like home but isn't quite right. Or you could go with her, take the boat and explore this new world and see where it takes you. You meet her gaze and see the pain residing there. You already lived a life where the smile never quite reached your eyes.

"Come with me," she says and holds out a hand.

You take a deep breath and take it.

---

Charlie waits at your destination, hair combed and face freshly scrubbed, and there's a huge smile on his face when the boat pulls to a stop.

He holds out a hand (you're getting used to this) and you let him have yours, let him drag you from the boat and onto dry land. There's sand here, soft and silky between your suddenly bare toes, and there's a scorching sun warming the skin exposed by your sundress and a gentle wind blowing your hair from your face. "I've been waiting for you," he echoes and leads you to the blanket laid out on the sand.

"Where are we?"

He shrugs, slips sunglasses over his eyes and tilts his face towards the sun. "Heaven? Elysium? I'm never quite sure. It's pretty sweet though. Lots of Driveshaft fans. They scream my name every time I come to the launch."

You know he's teasing and you laugh, the sound lively and happy in ways it hasn't been since you were a girl. "What do we do?"

The smile fades from his face and his expression is deadly serious beneath the mirrored shades. "We watch. We hope it was all worth it."

You're not sure what he's talking about, dying or living or a little bit of both. "I don't understand."

He lowers the shades and his smile returns, sympathetic and gentle. "How does it feel?"

You're still not getting it. "How does what feel?"

"Saving the world?"

You laugh again, but the sound is hollow and disbelieving. "I set off a hydrogen bomb, Charlie. I probably killed everyone on the island just like I killed myself."

He takes your hand again, squeezes hard and holds on tight. You can feel the rhythm in his thumb pulsing against your palm, the slow, steady throb of understanding flowing between you. "It's not that I don't miss them, Claire and Aaron, Hurley, my brother, even Sawyer." You flinch at the mention of James but he doesn't notice, keeps his eyes focused on the horizon. "We died so they could live, Juliet."

You think of your sister (saved by Ben) and Sun (saved by Frank Lepidus) and James (saved by you). You glance down the everlasting stretch of sand and you don't recognize the faces but you feel don't feel a stranger amongst them.

"Watch and wait?" you ask and Charlie slides the shades over his eyes and leans back to bask in the sun.

"You'll see," he promises. "It will be worth it."

---

A plane lands in Los Angeles. James wears a blue t-shirt and low-slung jeans and his hair is shorter and his skin is paler but he's healthy and alive and whole.

Your eyes drift shut. The world fades to black.

* * *

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